


Bound By Destiny

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Mighty Max
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Chosen One, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this AU of "Bring Me the Head of Mighty Max," Skullmaster succeeds in getting the Capbearer in his clutches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound By Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Written circa-2003. From some story notes updated 2010: "“Bring Me the Head of Mighty Max” is the last Skullmaster-centric episode before the first season finale, “The Maxnificent Seven”. As such, I found it an interesting juxtaposition, how Max could go from fully accepting his destiny to utterly loathing it. I felt that “Bring Me the Head of Mighty Max” showed him rebelling against fate, and then calling a reluctant truce with Virgil after he realizes that some of the things his fowl mentor has been saying all along have finally hit home, so to speak. 
> 
> "Also, anyone who’s seen the first season finale and the second season two-part premiere know that Max reverts back to being sullen and angry about his calling after the four heroes they call upon are killed by Skullmaster; in short, there’s a lot of burdens and angst for Max to carry, along with the Cap, and I hope that this piece has tapped into a bit of it, somehow."

He wasn’t quite sure how he got there, only that there was a throbbing lump on his head and a force pulling at his wrists. Finally gathering his nerve, Max blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the darkness, and glanced up. Heavy manacles attached his upper limbs to the stone ceiling, and accounted for the fact that his legs dangled a good six feet or so from the ground. The Capbearer immediately recognized the decor as part of the Underworld, location of lava beasts, lost souls . . . and Skullmaster. 

There was little doubt that the Mighty One was in quite a predicament. Being captured was bad enough; add not being able to recall what had happened to the mix and he had serious trouble on his hands. Man, this is bogus, he thought frantically, kicking the air experimentally a few times. Realizing that the chains were definitely going to hold, the Mighty One focused his attention on trying to recall how he’d gotten there. 

Virgil summoned me from the beach because Ol’ Bonehead sent his crystal-controlled goons after me . . . Norman tried to stop them, but there were too many for him to handle . . . I must have been knocked out and dragged back to the Underworld!

At this, Max instinctively looked up, straining to catch a glimpse of the red baseball cap he had come to bear as more of a burden than an accessory. It was gone. He pondered this for a moment: “how did they get me here without it?”

“They didn’t.” The voice that responded was cold and harsh, and cut through the air like a knife. Max, not realizing he’d spoken aloud, looked up startled at the looming, caped figure that approached with the strident manner of a hungry lion about to devour its prey. The length of the chains put him just about at eye-level with the skinless being, and the boy struggled and squirmed as Skullmaster glided only scant feet away. His icy eyes roamed over Max, taking in the sight of the quivering human who had been bound just to his specifications. He smirked, razor-sharp teeth glittering in the darkness.

“At last I have you in my grasp . . . the Mighty One, the Chosen One, the Capbearer, He who is prophesied to destroy me . . . Max.” Skullmaster spit the last word out like a curse, and the boy shivered.

“That’s my name,” he mumbled, and attempted to gather his courage and strengthen his voice. “Enough with the small talk; what have you done with Virgil and Norman?” Surely, he thought, they had been locked in separate chambers until they agreed to do Skullmaster’s bidding. 

If it were possible, the figure’s grin widened. “You really have no idea what happened, do you, Mighty One?” He reached over and cupped Max’s face in a long-nailed palm; the boy tried to pull away, but Skullmaster’s grasp merely tightened, demonstrating that his captive was in no position to protest. “No,” he murmured, “you have no idea how much danger you’re in, how utterly helpless and weak you are.”

He smirked and reached over to finger a strand of Max’s goldenrod hair. “Your friends are likely foolishly wandering around in the upper-world at this moment, mourning the loss of their hero. You see, Mighty One,” he sneered, tracing the contours of Max’s face with a single claw, “they have no way to reach you. I, in fact, hold all the cards of destiny, now; the Crystal of Souls, the Chosen One . . . and the Cosmic Cap.”

Max gasped lightly and tried once more to pull away unsuccessfully. “That isn’t true,” he spat, trying his best to appear menacing and failing miserably. “You wouldn’t still be in this dump,” he gestured with a slight nod of his head at their surroundings, “if you had the Cap.”

Skullmaster reached into the folds of his cape and produced the cosmic headpiece. Max blinked in confusion; Skullmaster continued to grin smugly; “how curious that you would choose ‘hanging around’ for your words, Mighty One.” He gripped Max’s chin and leaned in until their faces were scant inches apart. “It would seem that you are the one in such a position.” Max’s eyes widened fearfully, and he braced himself for what was coming.

The being unsheathed his long, jagged sword from its holster upon his waist; he brought the tip near Max’s neck, reveling in seeing the boy squirm. “It would be foolish of me to leave you alive down here; even if you would have no possible means of escape, I’m not one to tempt Fate.” He snorted at how Max paled at the prospect. “I’m not going to kill you quite yet,” he murmured, and brought the sword down suddenly; with a ripping sound, Max’s shirt fell from his body in pieces. The boy whimpered, and Skullmaster’s eyes glittered demonically. “I prefer to have some fun with my captives,” he rumbled, and tucked the Cap back into the folds of his cape.

Max shivered as an unoriginable draft swept over his upper half; goose-bumps visibly rose and dotted his pale skin, and he quivered, only half-aware of his surroundings. It dawned on him that Skullmaster had likely put his victims in this situation before, and probably had a ritualistic method of torture that he set aside for such occasions. This realization did absolutely nothing to ease the Capbearer’s nerves. He gasped and felt his stomach muscles instinctively contract as Skullmaster raked an open palm down his torso. 

The being shook his head and tsked in amused disapproval. “I never felt you were much of a Mighty One,” he murmured conspiratorially. “In fact, I never thought much of Virgil’s blasted Prophecy in the first place.” Max very nearly smirked; he couldn’t exactly deny how his written destiny made his life that much more of a hassle. ‘As if junior high wasn’t enough,’ Max thought bitterly, ‘I have to constantly fight for my – oh, God, what’s he going to do to me?’

Skullmaster’s pinching of one of his nipples between jagged nails brought him out of his reverie; it also caused him to emit a loud squeak, which only served to prove the underlord’s point. “Now, Maximus was a real hero,” Skullmaster continued. “Brute strength, cunning, and little regard for family or friendship; it was a pleasure killing the original Capbearer.

“You, on the other hand,” the dark lord continued, piercing Max with a look that could freeze fire. “Your indentation in the Prophecy was unfortunate, at best. Lacking the ability even to defend yourself; whatever Virgil was thinking . . . well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it, Mighty One?” He scratched the supple flesh of Max’s stomach again, and the Capbearer forced himself not to cry out this time. 

“Y’know,” the boy eventually forced out, “I’m not real gung-ho about this whole Prophecy thing, either. So why don’t I just give you the Cap, you know, as a present, and I can just, uh, say goodbye to my mom before you destroy the world?” Nothing like blind optimism, Max thought; he wasn’t banking on being able to plea-bargain with Skullmaster, especially considering how Bonehead held all the cards, but he could buy himself a little time. He hadn’t quite acquiesced himself to the idea of dying, yet.

Skullmaster, for his part, snorted in genuine amusement. “You don’t honestly believe that I would be foolish enough to allow Virgil to initiate an undoubtedly meticulously planned counter-attack once he’s sure you’re out of harm’s way?” he smirked. The nails scratching Max’s quivering belly now dug into the flesh, hard enough to draw blood. “Silly boy,” the villain hissed as Max let out a keening cry of pain.

“The original Mighty One lasted much longer,” he continued; jagged cuts dripped down Max’s torso, stray drops falling to the ground and disappearing from sight. The Capbearer tried not to think about it too much, tried not to tremble with fear. He nearly had his breathing under control when he felt Skullmaster, his arch-enemy, licking - *licking?!* - the sticky skin he’d just marred. Max wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or terrified; he settled for biting his lip, drawing blood on his own accord, this time.

Skullmaster licked skinless lips with the tip of a very serpentine tongue, stained with his last drink. “Blood of the hero,” he murmured, more to himself than his sole audience member. “Even if you are not a particularly adept one, you still possess natural power, passion. Your blood is rich and sinfully pure; I will enjoy drinking it out of your lifeless body.” Again Max failed not to react, and Skullmaster’s eyes narrowed as his smile widened. 

Re-adjusting himself to full, ever-imposing height, the villain leaned in close to the boy, until he could whisper in his ear. “Maximus was most unruly when I did this to him,” he purred. “Spat the most distasteful things at me; I was forced to cut out his tongue.” Max believed it; he concentrated on trying not to lose control, vainly hoping his torture would be slightly lessened if only he could be quiet.

When Skullmaster unclasped his jeans and yanked them down to his knees, along with his underwear, however, he couldn’t stop the squawk of indignation. He didn’t have long to reflect on the situation, though; the villain took the boy’s member in his clawed hand. “So young,” he noted. “Probably haven’t had time to properly use this, have you, Mighty One?” He poked the humiliated boy in the ribs until Max admitted that he was right. Head lowered, eyes closed, the Capbearer clenched his teeth, damning his body for responding to the disgusting ministrations of the one person in the universe he would never have dreamed would be doing this to him.

Skullmaster, on the other hand, seemed amused by the boy’s flaccid cock. “Does this sicken you, Mighty One?” he crooned. “It did Maximus; how revolting that I have such control over even the most intimate parts of you, hmmm?” His velvety voice, like the hiss of a cobra ready to strike, combined with his hand groping forcefully over Max’s swollen penis, made the Capbearer cry in shame. 

“P-please,” he begged, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please, stop.” His face flaming, heart beating against his rib cage like a captured animal, it didn’t take him long to come, unceremoniously, in Skullmaster’s palm. This, too, the villain tasted; it was too much for Max, who turned his head as much as possible. 

The Capbearer took a shaky breath; he waited for Skullmaster to finish his task, to kill him, but, to his dismay, the being was far from finished. Walking around behind the boy, his finger traced the cleft of the Mighty One’s behind. If Max thought it couldn’t get worse, he was wrong; he bucked and gasped when one of Skullmaster’s digits invaded him. However, when the being plunged his member, unannounced, in-between Max’s buttocks, the Capbearer lost his facade of calmness completely and utterly.

Sobbing, he felt Skullmaster’s hardness inside of him, ripping him, and all he could do was hang there, pleading and making sounds that only seemed to encourage the underlord to pump harder. Eventually, Max felt numb, the invasion little more than a slight irritation. When Skullmaster stopped thrusting, dulled blue eyes merely settled on the blade held up to his throat moments later. He wasn’t a hero; he was a weak little boy in charge of holding onto a very important artifact so everyone else could do the work, and Skullmaster seemed to be the only other person to realize that. 

‘I should thank him,’ the Capbearer thought absentmindedly; this gave his face sort of a sleepy half-smile, the very picture of someone who had fully accepted his death. Skullmaster dragged his sword across Max’s throat; blood dripped from the edge of the blade, and the red line on the boy’s flesh became jagged and wet. “Goodbye, Mighty One,” the villain whispered victoriously.

“It’s . . . just . . . Max,” the boy choked out before everything faded to black.

*

“Mighty One? Mighty One? Max?!” Somebody was calling his name, quite persistent in drawing a response from someone who was – wait, how did Virgil and Norman get to the Underworld without the Cap? Were they dead, too? Curious, Max’s eyelids fluttered open. 

The first thing he realized was that he wasn’t dead; sitting atop Norman’s shoulders (well, really, slouched over them), perhaps, but – he touched his throat, finding it clean and unmarred – alive, nonetheless. Why?

“A dream, Mighty One,” Virgil answered in that eerie pseudo-telepathic Lemurian way. “Obviously, a prophetic one, at that, since you referred to Skullmaster aloud a number of times. Do you remember falling asleep?” he queried. “I imagine hanging off the edge of a cliff and running from minions for an entire afternoon affected you more than you cared to admit.”

“I was dead,” Max murmured, ignoring Virgil’s questions. “He killed me, hung me up like a puppet and – and he knew that I wasn’t really a hero, and he did it anyways.”

“You *are* a hero, Mighty O-“ 

“I’M NOT A HERO!” Max shouted. Rarely did he super-impose himself on Virgil by yelling like that, but his mentor simply wasn’t listening.

Despite wanting to convince the boy otherwise, to assure him of the importance of his destiny, Virgil seemed to sense that the dream had had a profound effect on how the Capbearer viewed, well, the world, really; best not to turn him away on the grounds of proving a point. “A-alright, Max,” he spoke softly. “Let’s just get you home, now.” He tried to engage himself by studying the portal map, but he worried deeply about what role the prophetic dream had actually played in the scheme of things. All he knew for sure was that it had taken a serious toll on Max; the happy, energetic boy he’d grown accustomed to had been replaced with a sullen stranger with dulled blue eyes.

Max’s head lulled lethargically in pace with Norman’s footsteps as the trio trodded home in silence.


End file.
